


A Series of Unfortunate Social Events 1: Our Garden-Variety Galaxy

by dancinbutterfly



Series: Cosmic Love [3]
Category: Political Animals, The Martian (2015), The Martian - All Media Types, The Martian - Andy Weir
Genre: Astronauts, Brief appearance of OCs, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Established Relationship, Grandparents & Grandchildren, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Insecurity, Kissing, M/M, Musicians, Science, Sexy Times, Vacation, White House
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 09:40:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6605890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinbutterfly/pseuds/dancinbutterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark comes to visit TJ in DC. He meets a few new people upon arrival at the White House.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Series of Unfortunate Social Events 1: Our Garden-Variety Galaxy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alby_mangroves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alby_mangroves/gifts).



> Always always always for Alby. It's a pleasure to go down with this ship with you.

_"The universe is a pretty big place. If it's just us, seems like an awful waste of space." - Carl Sagan_

Mark wasn’t famous before the whole stranded on Mars thing. Being an astronaut can get you a lot of cool access but this isn’t 1969. Having been in space does not equal a free pass to ass on demand in the twenty-first century the way it did for Buzz Aldrin or Neal Armstrong (and presumably Yuri Gagarian but he doesn’t know what the poon situation was in Soviet Russia in the Fifties.) 

Coming home has been a shock for many reasons - the gravity, the abundant air, water, food, and vegetation, the not-being-under-constant-threat-of-death thing, food that tastes like real food, access to free and on demand media to name a few and was ready for that. Mostly. As ready as one could be for something no one ever had ever experienced.

He was completely unprepared for the social ramifications. Annie and rest of the NASA kids had sorta undersold exactly how famous he was when he was still on Hermes. By a lot. Whole freaking lot. 

There was an entire hashtag devoted to candid cellphone shots of him. The paparazzi camped out on the lawn of his parents’ lawn for two weeks. Us Weekly interviewed the girl he lost his virginity too. He had spent the first month he was back on Earth wearing hoodies and aviator sunglasses he stole from Martinez just to get gas and milk. He still had to dress down when he wasn’t going scheduled event. 

There were upsides to it of course. He got a phone call from freaking Beyonce, the queen herself. People started giving him things - for free. Because they knew who he was. He hasn’t paid for a beer or a coffee since he landed. Best of all is TJ. Non-famous people don’t get White House gala’s thrown in their honors and without that, he wouldn’t have met TJ and he wouldn’t be so fucking happy now.

TJ is full of great how-to-be-a-famous-face tips. He’s also funny and smart and so sexy that Mark wants to die a little sometimes. He pushes back and doesn’t take Mark’s shit unless he’s feeling playful. He is also the reason that Mark is waiting with his suitcase to be let into the White House, like, to stay overnight.

That is something that never would have happened before he was famous. It’s weird is what it is. Super great weird but still weird. 

“Okay,” says a middle-aged white man in a suit, checking his name off on a clipboard. “And I’m going to need two forms of ID. Only one of them needs to be a picture.” He’s a security guard but this is the White House so security means Social Service with real guns, not rent a cops in polyester uniform.

Mark fishes his driver's license, renewed just last week at one of the lovely Cook County Department of Motor Vehicle offices, and his NASA ID card and hand them over. He has every right to be here. He was invited. But the guy has a gun and an earpiece both of which give Mark that vague feeling of having done something wrong he used to get every time a teacher called him “Mr. Watney” back in high school, only on the federal level. 

“Okay, everything checks out.” The man smiles, hands back his ID, and then pulls out his phone. “I know its unprofessional but, could we call my daughter really quick? She followed you the entire Ares mission, even before the whole-“ He makes an awkward hand gesture that Mark adds to his ever growing collection of ways people don’t flat out say _stranded to die on Mars_. “I wouldn’t ask, unprofessional, I never ask but Samantha wants to be a rocket scientist. I can’t understand ninety percent of what she says, something about aging and light speed and worm holes? She’s into yarn theory, I think? I don’t know. I can’t even follow the new Star Wars trilogy but she’s my princess so I gotta ask.“

“No, that’s awesome,” Mark says and he means it because this part, by far, is the very best part of being famous. He gets to talk to kids and sometimes adults who are really truly into the science of it all. He gets to make someone's day better just by being a part of it. He wanted to be an explorer. That was the goal, originally, but there’s a lot to be said about being a bringer of joy. He’s starting to get attached to the part of the gig, really. 

They call Samantha on speaker and she picks up, distracted. “Hey Daddy. I’m at Claire’s and I’ll be home by seven. I promise we’re doing our homework before we watch Netflix. Claire’s mom’s monitoring and everything. Do you want to talk to her?“

“No, Princess I believe you. Listen there’s someone here I want you to talk to.”

“At the White House?” Samantha asks. “Aren’t you supposed to keep all the White House stuff a secret?”

“Mark Watney’s here, Princess. I told him you wanted to say hi.” He jerks his head at Mark.

“Hi Samantha.”

There’s the sound of high pitched girlish scream, his name screamed at a higher pitch and then another girl’s screaming voice joins the first. He assumes that’s Claire.

He can’t help but smile. “Nice to meet you. Your dad says you want to work on wormhole travel when you grow up.”

“Yeah, I do. Oh my god, you’re Mark Watney. Did you really eat shit potatoes?”

“Sam, oh my god,” Claire moans.

Her father looks aghast. “Samantha! Language!”

“Yep. Thats me. All me.”

“Oh god, I bet everyone asks about the potatoes. That’s so lame. Um, did you really make water from scratch? I read that you burned rocket fuel. That is so cool.”

This is pretty great, Mark’s not going to lie. He’s enjoying himself. “Did they mention the part where I blew myself up in the articles?”

“You nearly blew yourself up?” Samantha squeals. “That’s so cool. Well not cool. But so cool.”

“And Mark now has to go, Princess.”

“Take a picture!”

“Take a picture Mr. G!”

“I’ll ask. Love you.”

“Stay in school if you want to blow yourself up one day, kids,” Mark calls at the speaker and laughs when both girls make shrieking noises again. 

The Secret Service agent, Mr. G., hangs up, looking harrowed. “Okay. We survived. You don’t have to take a picture or anything. I just -“

“No its cool. I’ll smile and everything.”

He pulls out his own phone, pulls up his notepad app, writes “Hi Samantha and Claire” and holds it up. Mr G. (or maybe Mark should be calling him Agent G?) takes the picture and peppers him with gratuitous thanks. He doesn’t pull any silly faces because these girls are kids after all. Then the agent is leading him through the winding corridors to the residence. 

Agent G takes him up the Family Elevator straight to the third floor. It’s all antiques and floral walls. Basically, nothing like a place where TJ should live. Then Agent G leads him into a bedroom and finally, a place that feels like TJ - a speak modern-looking bed frame, a black plush couch, a high-def flatscreen so huge that Mark want to weep with envy. All the things he could watch on that thing, all the video games he could play. He's regretting not bringing his Xbox. It’s gorgeous, it really is. 

“You can leave your bag here. Feel free to explore. You’ve cleared security and you’re a guest so don’t worry about anything. TJ’s not in the Residence yet but we were given instructions to make you feel comfortable.”

Mark knows. TJ’s working. He didn’t expect him to drop his gig just because Mark’s flight came in. TJ’s proud of the work he’s doing. “Even if it’s just playing piano in a department store,” TJ always says sheepishly.

“It’s an honest living,” Mark keeps telling him. “And you’re playing music instead of pushing paper. That’s not ‘just’ anything.” He’s in town for a ten days and he fully intends to go watch TJ at work one of these days. 

He drops his suitcase at the foot of the bed. It’s a nice bed. He plans on having lots of great sex on that bed. Unfortunately, he cannot just hang out alone in TJ’s White House bedroom. He doesn't know how to work the remote on the TV and he doesn't know the White House wifi password.

He debates taking off his shoes but in the end decides against it. It’s still too surreal. There’s TJ His Boyfriend and TJ the President’s Son and without TJ His Boyfriend in front of him - being warm and boyfriend-y and tactile - Mark can’t get over all the presidential shit. Besides, his mother raised him right, okay, and one does not take off one’s shoes in the leader of the free world’s house without being invited to do so.

He wanders into three bedrooms before he finds the big airy room that has to be a solar or sun room or something pretentious like that. It’s gorgeous and lived in with luxurious couches and chairs, huge windows that let in the bright afternoon sunshine, and plush carpet his shoes sink into. Yet somehow he manages to be surprised someone chuckles at him. 

He takes a deep breath and spins, panting a little as he tries to calm his racing heart. “Wear a bell, Jesus.”

The woman, because it is in fact a woman, is old enough to be his grandma. She’s wearing a pink and green outfit that’s flowing and casually expensive and makes her look like she has money but doesn’t need to flaunt it. She grins at him with perfect teeth. “I know you.” She waves a hand at him that has a tumbler in it. “You’re that nice boy Elaine brought home from Mars.”

Mark tilts his head at her. She looks very familiar. She looks great for an older woman. He wants too look that good when he’s in his seventies. “I’m pretty sure NASA and JPL did most of the work.”

“Who do you think signed off on the orders that got the funds rushed through Congress? Because it wasn’t Bill Gates.” She holds out her hand but doesn’t get to her feet. “Margaret Barrish.”

“Mark Watney.”

“Yes I know. Everyone knows who you are, dear.”

“Right. I keep, sorta, forgetting that.” 

She shakes his hand then pats the couch beside her chair. “You’ll get used to it eventually. People like to say in interviews that it’s always surreal but those are all dirty liars just trying to play humble. Do anything long enough and it becomes your routine. Sit, sit, unless you like standing.”

The couch is surprisingly comfortable. As soon as his ass hits the cushions, she seems to make another glass of alcohol appear as if out of nowhere. She presses it into his hand and settles into her chair with a smile. Right. So she’s that kind of drunk. Okay. Mark can definitely work with this. He can have a drink with TJ’s grandma in the goddamn White House at one in the afternoon. This can be his life. He’s okay with everything that is happening to him right now. Yep. 

“So, what are you doing in my house, dear?”

“I’m pretty sure this is your daughter’s house.”

“It’s the people’s house if you want to get real technical, sweetie. But anywhere I live is my house so I ask you again, what are you doing in my house?”

“I was invited.”

“Not by me and not by her Madame Stick-Up-Her-Ass. She likes to make sure everyone gets memos about everything around here.”

Mark snorts. “Do you really call the President that?”

“She’s my daughter, I call her whatever the hell I want. It's my right as a parent.”

“I don’t know if that right’s in the Constitution. Constitutional law is not one of my degrees.”

Margaret narrowed her eyes at him then nodded and tapped him on the shoulder with the hand holding her glass. “I like you.”

“You don’t seem so bad yourself, ma’am.”

“You’re saying that because you don’t know me that well yet,” she declares with a smile. “So, tell me, what are you doing here. I mean, you can evade again but we’re going to keep coming back to this question until you answer me. I don’t need no CIA advanced interrogation techniques. I will get what I want.”

“Somehow I don’t doubt it.” He takes a sip of the liquid in his glass. It’s bourbon, and the good stuff too. He isn’t surprised. “I’m visiting TJ.”

“Are you now.” 

That, Mark decides, is definitely not a question. Oh it could be if anyone else said it but from this woman it’s not. It’s an observation. He is under observation. She is inspecting him, possibly for flaws, definitely for some kind of motive. He doesn’t know what she knows but TJ values privacy so if he can help it, he’s not going to say more than he has to. He’s a good boyfriend like that. 

“My grandson didn’t tell me he was having an astronaut over.” 

“Your grandson is a grown man,” Mark points out. “I don’t imagine he has to tell his elders everything he gets up to, does he?”

She laughs, head thrown back. “Yes, I do like you. You can stay.”

“I know. I cleared all the Secret Service background vetting and security checks.”

“Aren’t you the little literalist.”

Mark winks at her. “Hey, don’t bring my height into this. I’m a perfectly respectable size.” He’s 5’9” and that was just fine thanks. It fit him into all those EVA suits didn’t he? Yes it freaking did, thank Christ.

That makes Margaret laugh again, as intended. She smiles at him and drinks her entire glass in one go. Mark’s eyebrows shoot up. Well, okay then. So the addiction thing is genetic. But she’s elderly and he’s a gentleman. Also, it's none of his business unless TJ tells him. He only meddles in extreme conditions. Or if there’s sex involved - you are so welcome future Dr. and Dr. Beck-Johanssen. The good Lord willing, Mark will never end up in a situation with his boyfriend’s grandma where sex is involved. 

“I imagine you’re big enough if he’s having you for a sleepover.”

Mark flinches. He can’t help it. “I…plead the fifth.”

“You’re better looking than the last one.”

“Seriously, no comment.”

She clicks her tongue and shakes a finger at him. “And smarter. Excellent. Now, tell me about space. You know I slept with Buzz Aldrin once in the early 70s. Not particularly blessed downstairs but fantastic at oral. You wouldn’t know it, you know, what with him being a Republican and all. More than made up for the shortcoming, if you catch my drift.”

They end up talking less about space than about Margaret’s time as a Las Vegas showgirl. That woman has seen some shit. Mark is impressed and he lived on Mars, for fuck’s sake. It takes a lot to impress him. 

Still, he pulls out his phone after two hours and texts **SOS. your grandma is holding me hostage - I didn’t need to know that much about aesthetic shaving in 1960. send help.**

The text he gets back is **!!!!!!!!!!** followed by simply **RUN!**. His phone buzzes again with the message **Stay strong - I get home in two hrs.** Mark barely holds back a laugh. Margaret doesn’t ask but she knows. He can tell.

He refuses the offer of a refill but that doesn’t stop her from adding more to her own glass. And then again when that one goes empty. She’s a calm drunk, chatty and friendly and personable. Mark is starting to see where it could have been difficult to live with but as a visitor, it's not too bad. 

TJ shows up an hour and a half after his last text looking winded. He must have really hauled ass. His cheeks and nose are red and his hair is tousled from the wind outside and he’s still got his coat on but he’s smiling. He looks, God, he looks so good Mark wants to eat him up. 

“Mark,” TJ says. Fuck, Mark loves the way TJ says his name. “Hi. How was your flight? You have any problem getting settled?”

“Yeah.” Mark rises to his feet and smiles back at him. “Good flight; everything settled. How was work?”

“Work was work,” TJ says softly, eyes fixed on Mark.

They’re staring at each other across the room like a couple of high school kids. It’s ridiculous but it feels good too. It’s been months since they last saw each other any way but over Skype or selfies. The connection between them is alive, visceral. There’s no way that Margaret isn’t aware of it. But if TJ doesn’t care, Mark doesn’t either.

But Margaret just makes a dismissive sound. “Work is slaving away at some shitty shop in Virginia eight hours a day. Mark, tell him he’s too good for that.”

“It’s one of the highest end department stores in the country,” TJ sighs, like this is a conversation they’ve had before. “It’s good honest work. I can’t just work clubs. There’s only so much call for piano in bars.”

“You should be selling your music, playing Rachmaninov in Carnegie Hall.” She protests. “You’re so talented, honey.” 

“We’re not doing this again now. I have a guest.” He crosses the room and kisses her wrinkled cheek. “If you see Mom before I do, tell her I probably won’t be around unless she texts me.” 

Then he crosses to the couch, takes Mark by the hand, and walks him out of the solarium and across the hall. It’s as loud a declaration as if TJ stood on a table and shouted their relationship to the rooftops. Mark has actual goosebumps by the time the door of TJ’s bedroom clicks shut.

TJ lets go of his hand then and takes his face between his palms. He kisses Mark with the kind of careful consideration and intensity that Mark never thought anyone would kiss him with in his life. He fists his hands in the fabric of TJ’s shirt at his waist and holds on as they sink into each other. It feels like a homecoming and Mark is a man who knows his homecomings better than most people ever will. This isn’t better than setting foot on Earth for the first time after two years in the void but fuck, it doesn’t come really close. 

Then TJ drops his hands to Mark’s belt. He doesn’t know how on earth TJ gets his cock out so fast but he’s stroking it even as he leads Mark to the bed. “I’ve been thinking about you inside me all day,” TJ groans directly into his mouth. “Can you do that? Can you just be inside me?”

“You got it. Jesus, get out of your pants.” Mark says, reaching out to attack the buttons on TJ’s shirt. They tumble onto TJ’s bed shedding clothes and sprawling out beside each other. TJ grabs condoms and lube out of his nightstand while Mark watches. The sight of all that pale skin takes Mark’s breath away. “Fuck, this is a cliche but have you been working out?”

“Dougie makes me go running with him since we moved in.”

Mark trails his fingers over TJ’s flat stomach, just beginning to gain some definition. “Thank you, Douglas.”

“Do not say his name when you’re about to fuck me. Please. As a favor to me.”

“What other favors can I do?” He kicked out of his shoes and socks, shimmied out of his boxers and pants. He feels about sixteen, getting naked as fast as he can to get his hands on someone he likes but who actually cares? His boyfriend is sprawled out gloriously naked and spread-eagled on a California king literally waiting to be fucked. 

“Kiss me,” TJ pants. “Mark, kiss me.”

“Anything you want.” Mark says and he means it. He slides his tongue into TJ’s mouth easy then slips into his body the same way. They’ve never made love like this, totally licit in full sunshine in one of their homes. It’s beautiful. There’s no rush, no struggle, just the push-pull of pleasure that winds up and up and up through their joined bodies until it has nowhere to go but out. 

He comes shouting TJ’s name and there’s a mess between their bodies but honestly, neither of them care. It’s been months since they’ve been close like this, making do with video, calls and texts. Curling up in the filthy afterglow is the best thing either of them has had in ages.

“Shower?” TJ offers meekly.

“Cuddles now. Showers later.”

TJ yawns and rubs his nose in the hair at Mark’s temple. “Mkay. You gotta move over by like three inches or I’m gonna have a dead-leg.” Mark grunts but moves until they’re curled in on each other but are no longer in danger of crush injuries. It’s not good. It’s the best.

“So, why do either of us need jobs again? We can’t we do this forever?” Mark asks.

“Puritanical work ethic that drives the country and like…social darwinism? I don’t know. I failed out of two different colleges. I never really understood why the whole commune system didn’t work.”

“Not enough psychedelics and not enough hygiene. Not to mention a lot of 19th century commune communities were against sex so they died off due to lack of procreation.” 

“Right. I knew that.”

“Did you? Really?”

TJ laughs. "No but for a minute there I sounded educated, didn't I."

“TJ.”

“Come on. I’m serious. Two different colleges. The second one was a state school. And you have what, two Masters and a PhD?”

Mark coughs and feels color flush up his neck. “Two of each actually.”

TJ sits up so he can look down at Mark with wide eyes. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Nooooo.” Mark groans in protest. He reaches up and tugs at TJs shoulder. “Lie back down.”

“You have two Masters degrees _and_ two Ph.D.s which you must have had before you got to space. So, you must have had both of those, oh my god, by the time you were my age.”

Mark pulls on his shoulder again. “I took mostly AP classes in high school and I took college courses instead of going to camp because my dad wanted me to be busy during the summer but around to be used on the weekend for manual labor. All I needed when I got to undergrad were my major classes so I finished in one year and that's practically cheating. Look, it doesn’t matter. We were cuddling. We had afterglow, babe.”

“No, you did because you have to have had work experience too, like three years if you want to be a top candidate and then there’s the actual travel time. I went on the website and looked.” He’s staring at Mark now, his grey eyes blown wide. “You’re a genius.”

“Hey, no.”

“Like, obviously, you’re brilliant. I mean, you survived on Mars for almost two years but like an actual textbook genius. You being smart is one of the things that makes you hot but that didn’t connect. I don’t know why.” He drags a hand through his sex-messy hair. Gel from the day makes it stand up all over the place but Mark is less worried about his crazy appearance than the desperation in his eyes.

“TJ, trust me. I’m not a genius. Wait 'til you meet Johanssen at the wedding. She’s a genius. That kid who figured out the maneuver that got my crew back to pick me up, Rich, he’s a genius. I’m just a guy who likes math and is good at doing the reading.” 

“You are. You can say what you want but you are. What is a guy as smart as you are doing with a guy as dumb as me?”

“TJ, some people aren’t good at school.” 

“Maybe but I’m also an idiot that was literally handed every possible opportunity and wasted them. What is the guy who took every shot doing with the guy threw all his away?”

“Dude, shut up,” Mark sighs. “First, I don’t have to explain myself to anybody, including you. If I did though, I would tell them that I am dating you because you are a hot, funny, smart, strong, brave, caring guy who I like talking to and being with and having sex with. Is there a reason that’s not enough?”

“I don’t see how it possibly can be.”

“Sure, you’re insecure and you’re scared and I think you’ve got some other issues that are really not my place to push on but, you’re a guy I like. You’re a guy I could fall in love with. Stop being an ass and let me cuddle you.”

“You can’t say that word,” TJ says. Oh fuck, he sounds like he’s going to cry. He looks like it too, his eyes going red and bright.

Mark has never seen TJ cry before and he doesn’t know if he can take it. He’s not really the greatest with significant other’s in emotional distress. It’s not that he doesn’t have empathy. He does, okay, he’s totally empathetic and also sympathetic. It’s just that his coping mechanisms are primarily means of misdirection so he has time to come up with a plan. Plans are good for dealing with emotions, on occasion, but when it’s an outburst or a spontaneous reaction - Mark can’t usually buy the time he needs through joking or cursing or ignoring the problem all together. 

So he flounders. A lot. 

“I’m…sorry?” When in doubt, apologize. It works with women and while Mark hasn’t been in that many relationships with men, it probably works there too.

TJ laughs and goddamnit, he’s crying. They’re just a couple manly Dean Winchester tears(What? Martinez had all eleven current seasons on his drive and it had been a long flight back from Mars okay? He refuses to be ashamed.) but they’re still crushing to see. 

TJ sniffs and tries to smile. “You don’t have to be sorry.”

“I just got here and you’re crying. It really feels like I should be apologizing.”

“No it’s fine. Just…the last guy I thought loved me- It wasn’t good. He wasn’t good.” He makes a hand gesture at his temple. “It’s just kind of hard to hear is all.”

Right. The Republican with the wife. TJ hasn’t gotten graphic with the details but what he has said has been of the gut-punch variety. The guy sounded like a dick and TJ wasn’t fragile, exactly. Mark would give him more credit than that. TJ was sensitive and Mark more than anyone knew that trauma was trauma, even if it didn’t look like what you’d expect. 

He’s had actual violent reactions to the smell of potatoes in a restaurant since he got home. Like, he broke a glass, knocked over a chair and spilled pop all over the floor. Someone on the L had their earbuds on too loud once playing “Dancing Queen” and he’d had a full body flashback to the airlock exploding away from the HAB and nearly passed out he hyperventilated so hard. Someone almost called 911. So, yeah. If something hurts, then fuck what it looks like. It hurts.

“I won’t say it then.” Mark promises because yeah, that would suck but a trigger is a trigger and hey, he’d think of something right? Like Swayze saying “Ditto” in Ghost. He was nothing if not a creative guy.

TJ was looking very intently down at the threads of the sheet beneath them. “I don’t want you to not say it if you feel it.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I don’t know? I think that’s like, eighty percent of my problem ninety percent of the time.”

“Well okay, what do you want right now.”

TJ’s smile is less breakable now. “You. Here. With me.”

“Well you got it, babe. Ten days of uninterrupted Watney time. Any other requests.”

“Kiss me again?” TJ ducks his head. “It’s easier. When you’re kissing me.”

He tips TJ’s face to him by the chin. “You got it, babe.” 

Mark kisses TJ slow and sweet with all the affection he has for this lovely, talented, caring man who’s wormed his way so deeply into Mark’s heart. He tastes TJ’s mouth and thinks that going up to him at that gala was one of the best choices he made in his whole life and that if going to Mars got him here, then it might have all been worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first in the "subseries" of the Cosmic Love series that I'm affectionately calling A Series of Unfortunate Social Events. It's going to deal with them interacting with not-just-each-other.
> 
> So, as always with this series, I used quotes from scientists who are awesome. 
> 
> The first is by Carl Sagan who is my favorite, yes even above Degrasse-Tyson and is from his fiction novel Contact. 
> 
> The title is a twist from a quote by awesome lady astronomer(whoo represent lady astronomers!) Andrea Ghez: "Our galaxy's pretty ordinary, garden-variety."


End file.
